


Revolver

by flowersforgraves



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Disordered Eating, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced Infidelity, M/M, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Victim Treated Like a Lover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:15:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26343991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/pseuds/flowersforgraves
Summary: Hawkeye's mental health has always been more important than BJ's anything. It'd break Hawkeye to know that BJ doesn't want this, but there's nothing else to do.
Relationships: B. J. Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9
Collections: We die afen and afen





	Revolver

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notearchiver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notearchiver/gifts).



Sometimes BJ wonders if he shouldn’t just end it, shouldn’t just grab a sidearm from the armory and play Russian roulette. Those days are bad, but the days he’s convinced he deserves everything he’s getting are even worse.

Today is one of the second kind.

It’s a slow day, and he’s in the VIP tent with Hawkeye, having his face fucked. It hurts like hell, but he doesn’t mind. _I deserve to be hurt. I’m betraying Peg. I don’t deserve to love her, not if I’m letting Hawkeye do this to me._

Now, in the moment, he’s crying again. No matter how much he hates himself, it doesn’t stop the pain. Hawkeye likes to rough him up, make him bleed. It’s a control thing, BJ thinks. Hawk can’t control anything here, nothing but BJ. It’s a release, he thinks. It’s a way of staying sane.

He truly does believe that Hawkeye’s sanity is more important than anyone else’s. Without Hawkeye the camp would fall apart, and it’s his job to keep Hawkeye sane. And if that means letting this happen, doing this, then that’s what he’s going to do. It doesn’t matter that it hurts, that he hates himself for it, that he’s almost constantly afraid of what Hawkeye will do next. Hawk is what’s important.

BJ hasn’t been eating recently. He can’t bring himself to eat in the mess tent, where Hawkeye shoved him face down and fucked him raw last month. He can’t eat what Peg sends, because he’d have to share with Hawkeye and he can’t let Hawkeye have that part of him, can’t let Hawkeye taint what little he has left of Peggy.

When he does eat, when not eating would make Hawkeye suspicious, he usually ends up vomiting soon after. He deserves that too. If he wasn’t so useless he wouldn’t have to resort to this, to keep Hawk safe. He should be better than this. 

_Dear Peggy,_ he writes, _I love you. I miss you a lot and can’t wait until I can come home._

Deep in his soul he knows he can never truly go home, that Hawkeye has taken part of him and crushed it, fucked it into oblivion along with his self-respect. He hates himself, and the part of him that is still the same man who came to Korea hates Hawkeye.

He tries to ignore that part.

Hawkeye comes with a low groan, and BJ swallows reflexively. He hates the taste, hates the texture, hates the sensation and the humiliation. He nearly vomits again, but manages to stop. He deserves to feel sick, to feel filthy and violated and be nothing but Hawkeye’s fuck toy ( _that’s what he wants you to feel, says Charles’ voice in his ear, that’s what you have to fight)_ , to be used and abused and discarded.

He wonders vaguely what’s going to happen once the war is over. For all he knows it could be another three years, three years of being worthless and useless and terrified every moment, ( _tell him, Margaret says angrily, you’ve got to tell him, otherwise he’ll never stop, you can’t go on doing this, you’re killing yourself_ ), and he vows to volunteer for front line duty at the next possible opportunity.

Hawk’s fastening his pants back up, looking like a cat that caught a canary. BJ stays where he is, kneeling on the floor, waiting for permission to move. Last time he hadn’t waited, last time he’d been punished thoroughly enough that it still hurt to move, ( _is anything wrong, sir?, and Radar’s curious and a little sad, because he knows, damn it, Radar just knows things, is everything okay with you and Captain Pierce?_ ) or maybe it’s just the nightly sessions, the ones where he sometimes can’t walk back to the tent afterward, and instead just lies there crying until morning.

“You can get up now,” Hawkeye tells him. “And wash your face.” And then he’s gone, and BJ is alone, and he can cry now, body shaking with the force of the tears. He’s stopped laughing and joking and even talking, recently. He doesn’t have the energy to do anything but exist these days, exist and pretend to enjoy what Hawkeye does to him.

Then there’s hands on his back and arm and shoulder, Charles’ hands, and Charles knows what to do, doesn’t say anything, but instead just holds him, lets him cry. 

This will be over soon. One way or another, it will end.


End file.
